Touched
by Green Owl
Summary: John and Ellie and Halloween, where nothing is ever quite as it seems...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not buy/sell/own this mindcrack, I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

Author's Notes: Written for the JELLIE Halloween Exchange and dedicated to the lovely night_lotus.

I know that I've been a huge advocate for John belonging to the Marine Corps in my fanon, but I've decided to try John as an Army Ranger, since it's Halloween and all.

As requested by the recipient of this Halloween fic exchange, one will find "comfort," "rescue," and "pr0n with a plot" within the story.

I have to say, this came to me pretty quickly compared to other stories I've been working on (a.k.a. _Shore Leave_).

The songs that I listened to for inspiration are "Human Touch" by Bruce Springsteen, "No Ordinary Love" by Sade, and "Father Figure" by George Michael.

Enjoy!

* * *

"You're gonna do what?!"

"You heard me," John said as he deftly flipped open several sections of the Sunday paper and began arranging them in overlapping pieces until they covered the dining room table.

"Yeah, but I thought you were kidding," Chuck replied.

"Hey," Ellie called across the breakfast bar, "how 'bout you do this one, handsome?"

"Oh, come on, why can't I have the big pumpkin?" John wheedled before turning back to Chuck. "I never kid about jack o' lanterns, Bartowski. Besides, she asked so nicely – it would have been rude of me to refuse."

"I know this is going to fall on deaf ears," Ellie announced as she placed a very large orange gourd on the counter, "but you men really need to understand that size isn't that important."

"Yeah, and, uh, who picked the one in the patch that's a shoe-in for being selected as the most likely candidate for 'random' drug testing?" John reminded her as he pointed to the absolutely colossal pumpkin she'd hefted onto the bar next to the one she'd designated as his.

Ellie rolled her eyes and tried to scowl as she dried her hands on a dishtowel, but it was useless. She raised her hand, lowered her head and grinned at him. "Guilty as charged."

"Uh-huh," John seconded with a bit of a dimple before adding another layer of newspaper to the top of the table.

"I'm going to change into something a little more splatter-able," Ellie called as she exited the kitchen and made her way down the hall to her bedroom. "Don't start making a mess without me!"

"Okay, you really need to stop that," Chuck hissed as soon as Ellie was out of earshot.

"Stop what?" John asked as he placed one of the pumpkins on the newspaper-covered surface.

Chuck crossed his arms and attempting to look menacing. "Flirting with my sister."

John stood up to his full height and put his hands on his hips as he loomed over the kid. "I am doing no such thing."

"You are, too!" Chuck said, refusing to give ground. "Right in her own home! The home she shares with her very awesome – and might I add, very large – fiancé, who, incidentally, is big enough to take you, even if I can't. It's revolting!"

"What's revolting?" Sarah asked as she joined them.

"Chuck thinks I'm flirting with his sister," John updated her as he sat down and reached for a pencil.

"You are," Sarah confirmed.

"Like I said, "John muttered as he started to trace the top for his pumpkin. "Hey, wait a minute there, Walker – !"

"It's part of his cover," Sarah explained to Chuck as she briskly interrupted, "Ellie is beautiful, warm, and sweet. All of your friends are attracted to her; it would be weird if Casey weren't."

"Right," John said after a beat, and nodded nonchalantly as he carefully inserted the blade of his carving knife diagonally into the tough skin on the top. "All part of the cover."

"See?" Sarah told Chuck. "Nothing to worry about."

"So, are we clean?" John asked her casually as he pulled the knife out.

"Yeah, we're clean," Sarah replied, as she tucked her pocket-sized bug detector into her purse. "Ready to go, Chuck?"

"Yeah, just let me get my wallet," he answered, heading to his room.

Sarah folded her arms. "Um, Casey?"

"Yeah, Walker?" he replied, carefully making another incision.

"I know you don't need someone to tell you how to do your job," she began slowly, "but I think maybe Chuck has a point."

John looked up at her, his face blank and emotionless.

"It would probably be a little easier on him if you weren't so…friendly with Ellie," she finished.

"You're right," John said, looking her in the eye as he removed the blade from the skin, rotated the pumpkin a little more, and thrust it back in. "I don't need someone telling me how to do my job."

"I didn't mean – "

"Just because you –" stab! "– have trouble maintaining _your _–" stab! "– professional –" stab! "– distance –" stab! "– doesn't automatically that mean –" stab! "– that I do."

"Casey, people are talking," Sarah said quietly.

"And just what is it that they're saying?" he muttered, executing another sharp plunge.

"They're…"

He looked up at her, cocked his head to the side, raised his eyebrows. "They're…?"

"They're taking bets on how long it'll be until you end up in bed with her," she finished. "They've all commented on it. Carina's got five hundred on Thanksgiving, and Montgomery's only got fifty on it, and he says he's holding out for Easter on account of your past difficulties with seduction. Bryce even put money on it before he left, though he thinks it won't happen until after the mission is over."

"Beckman say anything?"

"Not yet."

John returned his attention to his pumpkin, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered her words.

"I wouldn't have brought it up, except that Chuck's started to notice," she added.

He rotated his pumpkin again and slowly slid the knife into the flesh. "I'm not gonna pretend like the chemistry's not there. She is an amazing woman."

" – I sense a 'but' coming – "

"But she's not my type," he said, completing the last cut.

"What? She seems exactly your type – dark hair, long legs, intelligent –"

John put the knife down on the table, grasped the stem of the pumpkin and began gently prying the nearly-severed top from the body. "She's way out of my league, Walker. Guy like me, things I've done – I'm not good enough to even touch her. I know it, she knows it, Malibu Ken knows it. It's why he doesn't get twitchy when I'm hanging with his girl and there's no one else around."

Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but Ellie and Chuck walked into the room and further conversation on that topic was tabled for the moment.

"Wow, that top is perfect!" Ellie observed as she sat down and admired John's handiwork. "I can't ever get mine to do that. How did you do it? Can you show me your technique?"

"Sure," he replied, smiling at her as he began trimming the stringy bits of pumpkin innards from the bottom of the newly carved lid. "But first, can we get a bowl for the entrails before they get all over the table?"

"Coming right up!" she said, jumping out of her seat and heading for the kitchen.

_Is she wearing a bra?_ John wondered as he watch the way her black tank top molded to her back without a break in the fabric.

"Ready, sweetie?" Chuck asked Sarah, with a nervous nod towards the door.

"Ready, sweetie," she replied, sliding her hand into his.

"Aren't they adorable?" Ellie asked him as she returned with a mid-sized metal spoon and the biggest mixing bowl he'd ever seen.

John watched Sarah lace their fingers together while Chuck opened the door for her with his other hand.

"Sure," he grunted, glancing up in their general direction. Bartowski shot him a warning look, and John had to work hard to keep from giving the kid a middle-digit salute. "_Adorable_."

"So," Ellie said, setting the bowl down as she settled into the chair nearest to him and fluttered her eyelashes. "Tell me, O Great Pumpkin Carving Master, is there a special trick to your procedure?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied, trying to break eye contact with her as he reached for the knife.

It was impossible, though, at that moment: she was smiling at him, all warmth and openness and innocent invitation, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and brush his lips up and down the side of her neck and – God, he didn't know – drown himself in her for the next hundred years…

"Ow!"

"Oh no!"

"_Mother puss bucket!_" he swore under his breath as he surveyed the damage. He had sliced open the pad of flesh between the palm of his hand and the first knuckle of his pinkie finger – it was oozing blood and stinging like a goddamn motherfuckin' sonuvabitch.

"Here, let me see," she said softly as she reached for his injured hand.

"No, it's okay, just show me the medicine cabinet," he said, applying pressure.

"John," she coaxed. "You're bleeding. Let me see."

He steeled himself for the rush of awareness that came whenever she touched him. It scared the shit out of him, the way the briefest brush of her fingers against his made him forget what he was thinking, what he was saying, what he was doing. It made him want things, things he had no business wanting.

"It's not too bad," she said as she examined the wound with a critical eye. "A little Neosporin and some tape, and you'll be good to go. I'll wrap it so tight that you won't even know you've nicked yourself."

"You don't have to – "

"Yes, I do," she told him, standing up and grabbing his uninjured hand. "Into the bathroom with you."

* * *

Ellie tested the water before she guided John's hand under the stream and turned it slowly this way and that to wash away the blood. "Does that hurt?"

"Stings a bit," he admitted grudgingly. He'd been in pain worse than this, and he'd never once complained – it wasn't in his nature to whine. Unfortunately, the characteristics he'd chosen in the creation of John Casey, Buy More-on at Your Service, required him to pretend to be the kind of candy-assed wuss who'd flinch at a paper cut. That sucked royally, especially since he ended up getting injured around Ellie more often than he'd like to admit. "Sorry. I'm not usually klutzy like this. Don't know what's gotten into me."

She smiled up at him as she patted his hand dry and then blew softly on it. John's breath caught as he felt something warm and tender flow from his finger, up his arm, and into his ribcage. It was as if she'd infected the cut with a little of her spirit when she exhaled. He wondered if kissing her would feel the same.

"Yeah, you do seem to be getting into all sorts of scrapes lately," she said as she got a little closer and used the tip of her middle finger to daub Neosporin onto his flesh. "Something distracting you?"

She was so close to him that he could now tell quite clearly that she was not wearing a bra. His eyes crossed as he sucked in his breath and tried to think about not getting a hard-on.

_Uh, yes. _

He was having a hard time concentrating an anything besides how long it would take to get his finger wrapped, get them both naked, and have a good ol' time getting steamy in the shower.

"Besides fending off the ravaging hordes of trick-or-treaters on Saturday night?" John twisted his lips and shook his head. "Nope, don't think so."

She reached for a Band-Aid and quickly stripped the packaging from it before wrapping it around his finger. "Don't worry, we don't get that many of them after nine o'clock."

"Good to know," he said, closing his eyes as her hair brushed against his wrist.

"So, what are you going as?" she asked him as she wrapped a length of tape around the Band-Aid.

If he flexed his fingers the slightest bit, they would be brushing against her breast. He wrenched his mind back up from the gutter. "For what?"

"For the Halloween party," she prompted him.

_Considering that I'm playing a role 365 days a year, it might be a welcome change to drop the cover for a night…_

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I don't know, maybe myself?"

She gave him a look that told him that, while she was amused, she was not impressed.

"We'll just have to see," he stalled. "What about you?"

"I'm thinking a black cat. I've gone very elaborate the past two years, and I want something simple this time. Ears and a tail are just about the level of maintenance I'm willing to go for."

"Understandable. I'm a fan of simple myself," he said.

She shifted her weight and chewed on her lip. "So…"

"So…?"

As far as John could tell, they were done in here, but she wasn't making a move to leave. No, it fact it looked she seemed to be stalling for time. Not to mention that she didn't need to stand so close – the bathroom was huge by apartment standards, but here she was, in his space of her own volition.

It wasn't the first time they'd been in this position. It was happening more and more often, and it wasn't him who was initiating it; she was. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that she wanted him to kiss her.

He decided to try something.

He took a tiny step back from her.

She stepped forward and closed the gap.

In that moment, he got what Chuck and the others had seen on the video monitors: she was into him, _big time_, and she was probably unconscious of it, too.

_Oh holy fuck….this could get complicated._

He cleared his throat and wiped his mind clean of the dirtiest of the thoughts that had inundated it in the past five minutes. "So we've got some pumpkins to carve, right?"

"Right!" she said with a bright, almost forced laugh as she took a step back.

"Then let's get to it," he suggested, motioning her towards the door.

"Sorry, gotta clean up first," she said, turning to the sink where the tools of her trade were splayed out. "Be right there!"

He left her to return to the table. As he sat down, he picked up the knife by its handle and gripped it with his injured hand. The wrapping flexed perfectly with the pressure, and there was no pain.

_She'd make one hell of a field medic,_ he told himself as he put the knife down and reached for the spoon. _But she'd probably be the busiest person in the platoon – patching up all those losers who're too busy moonin' after her to keep their asses from getting shot up._

Ellie hopped into the chair next to him, pulled her enormous pumpkin towards her, picked up the knife, and started making scary sounds _á la _Psycho as she took a few preliminary stabs at the air. "Okay, I'm ready!"

"All right, now_ that's_ adorable," he said before he could stop himself.

"Well, I try," she replied, scrunching her nose at him.

John's toes curled as he felt that familiar surge of emotion overload his circuits whenever she grinned at him.

For a whole ten seconds he wished that things were different, that he could be someone who was good enough to be with her, a banker, a lawyer, a doctor…hell, he might even be willing to trade places with Captain Dumbass, M.D., just for one night, if it meant that he could hold her, kiss her, show her how he felt about her.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" she said, putting the knife down and taking off her engagement ring and putting it in her pocket before picking up the pencil. "Don't wanna have to clean pumpkin guts out of that thing. Now, where were we?"

"I believe we were about to begin trepanning your gourd," he said, putting a scoop of gooey seeds into the mixing bowl.

"So in addition to practicing brain surgery on vegetables, you are also a connoisseur of fifty-cent words? I'm going to have to claim you for my team on Scrabble night, mister," she informed him as she drew a line to use as a guide for her knife.

"Name the date and the time, and I'm all yours, baby girl," John quipped easily as he scraped his spoon around the rim of his pumpkin.

Ellie didn't say anything in response, which he thought odd.

He looked up at her as he deposited his next round of squishy orange viscera into the bowl.

Even though she was pretending to concentrate on her pumpkin, her hair was pulled back from her face and he could see that her cheeks had taken on a color similar to the leaves of the sugar maples at the height of autumn back in his New England hometown.

_Was it something I said?_ he wondered.

Then he realized exactly what he'd said.

And how she'd taken it.

Now it was his turn to blush.

"Have you ever seen _Firefly_?" he asked casually as he returned his attention to scooping. "Chuck said I'd make a good Jayne Cobb for Halloween. All I need is a goatee, a really big gun, and something called a 'cunning hat.'"

"Is that what that was?" Ellie asked, grasping at the out. "Not bad. Yes, I've seen _Firefly _– I think it's pretty good. Shame it was canceled before Jayne and River could get together."

"Yeah," John agreed, keeping his tone relaxed in an effort to lower the tension. "Everyone thinks he was into Kaylee or Inara, but any fool could've seen what was going on between those two."

"The best part of it was imagining how her brother was going to react if they ever did hook up and he found out about it," Ellie declared wickedly as she picked up her knife and looked him in the eye. "Two by two…hands of blue…"

"Hey, cut that out before you cut me up, lady," John ordered in a semi-offended tone.

She just grinned at him primly and waited for instruction.

John let out the breath he'd been holding as he felt his muscles relax, relieved that he'd managed to turn the focus of conversation into less dangerous waters. These moments of being fully cognizant of the intense mutual attraction that they had for each other were coming more and more often.

He had to be careful, or something was going to happen.

Something he couldn't play off as harmless flirting.

"Okay, you want to make the insertions at an angle, so as to form a lip inside of the pumpkin…"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not buy/sell/own this mindcrack, I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

Seven days later, he was in the middle of finishing up a report in the Castle when the text message came in: "Help!"

John flipped open his phone and dialed the number.

It picked up after one ring.

"John?" Ellie's voice sounded a little harried and stressed.

"Yeah. What's goin' on?" he asked, checking his watch.

"I forgot to get candles."

"Candles?"

"For the jack o' lanterns."

"Oh, yeah…I'm on my way home from the Buy More. What kind do you need?" he asked, tearing off a sheet of notepaper.

"I think Large Mart has six-packs of mini-pillars on sale. Can you get me one of those?"

"Sure. Anything else?"

"Um, matches? Long enough to light the candles without burning my fingers or catching my hair on fire?"

"Okay, got it. What else?"

"Um, let me think…I have the lady fingers, I have the plastic monkey heads with the detachable scalps, the tapioca pudding, the apples for bobbing, the dry ice for the cauldron…"

John closed his eyes and fiddled with his pen, letting the soft sound of her inner monologue on broadcast wash over him and soothe away the tension from the mission they'd just completed. Considering how much his buddies in the business liked to bitch about how forgetful women were and how much they hated all that domesticity shit, he was surprised to realize how relaxing he found it.

Or maybe it was just Ellie that he found relaxing. She's started calling him for the emergency supermarket runs more and more this past year, claiming that Chuck had become too absentminded for her to leave the last-minute pick-ups to him anymore. Nowadays there wasn't a major holiday that didn't bring an eleventh-hour call or text message from her, and he spent more time than he'd like to admit punishing himself with extra PT every time he chose to come to her rescue and this latest call was going to give him at least one more mile each day this week, as well as an extra fifty push-ups and pull-ups.

Sick thing was, he welcomed the discipline and the pain because she'd commented on what great shape he was in more than once this past summer.

_Should change my middle name from "Adams" to "Masochistic"…_

"So, we've got candles, matches, red Kool-Aid and jelly worms for 'bug juice' – anything else?" he asked, reading off of the piece of paper.

"Nope, that's it," she answered.

"See you in an hour," he said.

"Thanks, John," she sighed. "You know you're my hero, right?"

"My pleasure," he murmured before he hung up and smacked the phone against his forehead.

He hadn't meant for his bedroom voice to come out just then, but it had.

Now he was going to have to deal with a whole new round of tension when he saw her.

He used it before by accident and discovered that her body had this unnerving penchant for responding quite favorably to the pitch and timbre of that tone.

The first time it had happened, he'd inadvertently used it when he was in the middle of enjoying a taste test of her ambrosia salad at the Fourth of July party. He'd been more than a little shocked to see her pupils dilate as she took a deep breath and blushed to the roots of her hair.

He'd wondered if it had been a one-time thing, but further experimentation had proved him wrong.

They'd been cleaning up after dinner one Sunday night in the middle of September and he'd tried it again. She'd dropped the dishtowel and turned towards him, her accelerated breathing causing her breasts to push against her shirt and the apron she was wearing as she instinctively gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and looked at him with wide, awakened eyes.

There had been one split second during which he suspected that she'd been prepared to tackle him to the floor and do hot, naughty and unspeakable things to his body if he so much as moved a muscle.

Morgan, bless his little hairy little self, had saved the day by walking into the kitchen in search of more dessert.

John had been very careful not to use that tone with her since then, but all of his watchfulness was for naught because here he'd gone and done it again.

There was no telling what would happen when he walked in the door, and he found himself praying that Captain Dumbass was there to take the edge off before he arrived.

_

* * *

No such luck._

"Where is everyone?" John asked as he put the bag of groceries on the dining room table and took in the campy decorations that she loved so much.

"Chuck and Sarah went out to see a movie, so they're won't be here for a couple of hours," Ellie answered as she stirred the pot on the stove. "Devon's not going to be home until late. Would you bring the Kool-Aid and the jelly worms in here, please?"

He watched her body language as he entered the kitchen with the requested items. She was moving strangely, her body radiating aggravation and frustration.

_Hmmm…_

She pursed her lips and blew a bit of hair from her eyes. "He decided to take on another shift tonight, so he'll probably miss the party."

"He didn't tell you?" John guessed.

She shook her head, clearly upset. "He was supposed to be here…to help me set up…to…to…"

He saw it coming, and he didn't run from her when she turned to him and burst into tears, didn't flinch when she pressed on one of his brand new bruises in the process of wrapping her arms around him. He just put his arms around her and held her.

"Look at me," she whispered as she pulled back from him and reached for a paper towel to blow her nose. "One hour until the party starts, I've got a million things to do, I haven't had a chance to get ready, and here I am, wasting time going off on a crying jag for no reason!"

He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that her fiancé was a complete and utter dickhead, but that wasn't what was called for in this situation. "I'd like to help. Can I do anything?"

"But you just got off of work," she protested. "And I made you get me things. It wouldn't be fair now to ask you to stay and help me."

"Screw that," he said, making a face. "You and me, we're friends, right?"

Ellie looked at him as she finished wiping her nose. "I like to think we are."

"Well, okay then. To me, means that we've got each other's back, no questions asked, and that includes helping you out of a bind when you're in one. And it looks like you're in one now, so you tell me what you need."

"I…uh…I need someone to make the bug juice," she said, looking at the bowl on the counter she'd designated for the punch.

"What else?" he prompted.

"Um…" She looked around. "I need someone to put plate up the snack food, and…set up the lady fingers cake, program the stereo to play continuously, make sure there's enough toilet paper and pump soap in the bathroom..."

"That it?"

"That's all I can think of," she said.

John took her by the shoulders, turned her around and walked her to her bedroom. "_You_, get dressed. _Me_, I'm going to take care of all of the stuff you listed, then go home and change into my Batman costume. No arguments, okay?"

She gave him a soggy smile. "Okay."

He chucked her under the chin and turned to attend to the tasks at hand.

"Hey, John," she called.

He turned around.

"It's a good choice for you – Batman," she told him in a sweet, solemn, if somewhat sniffly voice. "Sometimes I feel like all I have to do is put up the Bat Signal and there you are, coming to my rescue. You don't have to, but you always do. It…it touches something…inside of me…to know that when I need you, you're there."

He swallowed the ten very inappropriate responses to her words and gave her a brusque, satisfied nod.

Her eyes glittered as she smiled back at him before she closed the door.  
_  
__Thank God I've got shit to get done_, he told himself as he made his way to the stereo and started loading the compact discs. _One more smile like that from her and screw this mission, I'm breaking down her door…_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not buy/sell/own this mindcrack, I just abuse the _hell _out of it.

* * *

John was in his living room, getting ready to power down for the night, when the warning light came on and the feed cut out from one of the rooms in the Bartowski apartment.

He swore under his breath as he went through the checklist to make sure nothing was screwy on his end. All of the plugs were in place in his surveillance feed and none of the wires were bad, so there must be something wrong with the receiver. He looked at the display panel to see which room it was. Knowing his luck, Chuck had turned it off in an attempt to get in some "quality time" with himself.

He didn't blame the kid – Sarah had been running around in that sci-fi fantasy babe get-up and most men had spent the better part of the night drooling over her cleavage and legs.

Nope, it wasn't Chuck's bedroom where the feed had been interrupted – it was Ellie and Woodcomb's.

_Fuck._

His first inclination was to ignore it and go to sleep because he did not want to get anywhere near her right now when he was in this state.

Earlier that evening, Ellie had been making the rounds at her party dolled up in a skintight, but somehow at the same time, very elegant black dress, complete with clip-on ears and domino half-mask. Her hair had been done up in a pony-tail (_"it doesn't have to be attached to my butt to count!"_) and she'd used black eyeliner to draw a feline-shaped nose on her own, and added a set of elegant whiskers, too. The effect had been that of a very stunning and shapely Catwoman.

And goddamnit all to hell in a be-ribboned handbasket, he'd had enough punch to fuck up and tell her so.

She responded by turning to him, rising up on tiptoe, and leaning her body against his while she whispered into his ear, "Does that mean that you wanna pet me?"

Jesus H. Christ, he'd been stupid enough and drunk enough to let himself say exactly what he'd have said to her if he wasn't undercover, turning his mouth towards her ear and saying in the bedroom voice, "You gonna purr for me if I do?"

"I don't know," she'd replied, her breath full of warmth and teasing as it wafted onto his neck before she nipped the skin of it gently. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"

He felt his knees buckle (_damn, I thought that only happened to women in romance novels!_) and he staggered back from her as she gave him a cool smile and a slow wink.

Then she was gone, melting back into the throng of people and playing hostess to the huge crowd of dear friends and slight acquaintances, most of whom were Woodcomb's frat brothers, their girlfriends or hook-ups for the night, and Chuck's buddies from the Buy More.

The crush of bodies in the house was generating enough heat to require leaving the windows open, and that helped a little, but he needed to go somewhere and cool off, stat, so he took the opportunity to migrate outside. He made his way to the fountain, sat down on the edge, took off his helmet and started gulping deep breaths of fresh, head-clearing air.

John was intoxicated enough to play the game, but not enough to break the rules.  
_  
__If I'd have stayed one more second – whew! Just need a moment to collect my thoughts and sober up. Thank God I have some peace out here…_

That feeling lasted for all of five seconds because that's how long it took for the strident tones of Jeff and Lester to penetrate the sound of the water splashing into the basin.

They were on the other side, dressed as Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk, respectively, and having a very intense and inebriated conversation with a bemused Anna, who was also wearing a Starfleet uniform.

"Come on, Uhura," Jeff was begging, "You were _totally _into Spock in the reboot!"

"I'm not Uhura," she replied haughtily. "And even if I was, that movie was just a glorified circle jerk of fanboys who were lucky enough to get paid to write, produce, and direct it. Said it before and I'll say it again, not even if you were the last men on earth!"

"What if we were the last men on..._Vulcan_?" Lester asked, swaying towards her. "Remember, that planet was destroyed by the evil Romulan…dude…person, so we'd best get shaggin' before the world ends, eh, Woo?"

"Excuse me, fellas," Morgan said, swooping in to take Anna's hand. "Counselor Troi and I have to go get some more of the witches' brew before it's gone."

"Thank you, Commander Riker," she cooed at him.

John's stomach roiled.

_Ugh! _he thought as he made a face. _Being subjected to this kind of torture should merit some form of hazard pay. _

He had to get out of there – _fast _– before he tossed his cookies.

Somehow John made it into his apartment and managed to shut the door behind him – he was finally alone, away from those idiots he worked with and far, far out of temptation's reach.

_Thank you, God._

Now here he was, five hours later, all sobered up and swearing mentally as he assessed this absolutely goatfucked situation.

He was going to have to make a midnight foray into the apartment – into that woman's goddamn _bedroom_ – to get the feed back online.

Yes, he could call Sarah and ask her to take care of it, but it was his night to be on-call and it would look very suspicious if he had to ask someone else to do what he considered to be one of his specialties, the implantation and maintenance of surveillance equipment.

_Fuck you, God_, he swore nastily at the deity he'd prayed to since he was old enough to go to C.C.D. _That's right, you heard me: Fuck. You._

John might have been imagining it, but he thought he felt someone laughing at him.

He looked down at what he was wearing: black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. If he put on black boots, he could probably get in and out with a minimum of fuss and be in bed before enough time had passed for Beckman to comment on the gap in the tape.

On with the socks and the boots, then a quick stop at his coat rack for a gun with a silencer, a fresh receptor, and a spare battery pack, and he was walking out the door into the cool California night.

* * *

Much like New York, Los Angeles never really slept. There was always traffic passing on the boulevard outside of the gate, and the streetlights continually blazed throughout the hours of darkness with brilliant blue-white intensity, but tonight the courtyard was blessedly silent.

He made his way to Chuck's window, located the keypad for the magnetic release mechanism he'd installed when he'd first moved in, and released the lock.

There was his mark, passed out cold on top of his comforter, snoring softly and drooling onto his pillow.

John pulled his gun out and pressed it slowly to Chuck's temple before uncocking it and tucking it into the back of his pants. He shook his head. _Sleeping deep with the curtains open…kid practically has 'shoot me' tattooed on his ass._

After checking to make sure all of the transmitters in that room were working, John made his way to the kitchen, checked the power level on the transmitters, and scoped out the parking lot through the window.

Woodcomb's parking space was empty.  
_  
__Must still be at work._

He checked to make sure that the living room and the bathroom transmitters had enough juice before heading to Ellie and Woodcomb's bedroom.

John raised his hand to knock, then realized what he was about to do and grimaced.

_Don't be a fucking idiot_, he chided himself as he reached for the handle and turned it slowly.

He'd been in this room plenty of times before to install the transmitters and change the batteries, and even though it had always been empty, he'd felt Ellie as an almost palpable presence.

Her hand was evident in the organized state of her closet, the neatly folded clothing in her dresser drawers, the tangle of earrings and necklaces in her jewelry box. He knew that she wore body mist instead of perfume, that she favored matching bras and panties, that she slept either naked or in a pair of Eeyore pajamas, and that her vibrator was a Hello Kitty model that had been a birthday gag-gift from her best friend who happened to be living in Japan and working as a translator, and that she kept it tucked in the recesses of her sock drawer, along with her emergency cash stash.

That was more than he knew about most of the women he'd ever been attracted to, but then again, all of them had been spies, and therefore, used to lying.

Not the woman who lay slumbering on the bed. She was a complete anomaly – an innocent civilian who made him feel like he'd drunk a potent cocktail of unsolicited emotions he wasn't ever supposed to taste: peace, protectiveness, laughter, lust...

_Whole lotta lust_, he reminded himself as he crossed to the bad and looked down at her.

She was _not _wearing the Eeyore pajamas.

_Lord have mercy._

She was lying on her stomach, her arms wedged up under the pillows. Her left knee was drawn up a little and lay outside the covers, which were hardly worthy of their name because they barely covered up her butt. He could see the outer swell of her left breast and the dip in her waist where it shallowed before flowing into her left hip, and it was all he could do not to start drooling on her.

_…Want to pet me? _

Her earlier words came back to taunt and haunt him as he crouched by the bed and gazed at the long length of her dark hair, the smooth skin of her pale back.

_It would be so fuckin' easy_, he thought as he put out his hand and ghosted it slowly, so very slowly, over her hair, down her back. He could smell the scent of the soap she'd used when she'd showered after the party, and the body lotion she'd used before she went to bed. Her hair was cool, her skin was warm, and he swore that he could almost feel the soft crackle of energy as the heat she was giving off mingled with his.

_Baby girl, I wish to God you were mine_, he thought at her with all of the silent intensity and need he was feeling as his hand hovered over the small of her back for a moment before gliding up to her hair and then back down again.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and scowled. It was seven minutes to three in the morning, the witching hour of the night. The feed had been down for more than five minutes. If he didn't get it back up and running, there'd be hell to pay.

John made a move to rise, but she unexpectedly shifted and he immediately stilled.

_Oh, God…not good._

Ellie had rolled leisurely onto her back in her sleep, and now the soft curve of her left breast was snuggled quite securely into the shelter of his palm.

_If she wakes up… _ He felt a cold sweat break out all over his body as he turned his head away from the sight of his hand cradling her breast and closed his eyes. _Hey, God, remember when I said 'fuck you'? You know that I didn't mean it, right?_

He opened his eyes, glanced at the nightstand, and breathed out a soundless sign of relief. There was a wineglass on it, an empty wineglass. In addition to all of the intimate things he knew about Ellie Bartowski, John also knew that she slept like the dead when she had wine before bedtime.

_Thanks, man, I knew you understood._

He stood up slowly, opened his hand, released his fingers from their grip on her, abso-fucking-lutely grateful for this most urgently required of absolutions.

And then she opened her eyes.

He waited for her to sit up, scramble backwards from him, pull the covers up to her neck and start screaming bloody murder.

But she didn't.

"You're here," she whispered sleepily as she smiled up at him.

"Yeah," he replied, clenching his hands into fists and pressing them to his sides so that he wouldn't do something really, really wrong like use them to rip the rest of the covers from her body and look his fill.

"No," she murmured as she reached for his hands. "Not with me. _Never _with me…"

"What?" he asked her, helpless as she stroked his fists with the tips of her fingers.

"Hold back," she said softly as she sat up in one liquid movement. "Don't hold back with me."

And John knew in that moment that he had gotten it all wrong.

She had always the one reaching for him, and here she was, doing it again.

It wasn't that she didn't think he was good enough for her; it was that _he _didn't think he was good enough for her.

"You're dreaming," he told her, praying with everything he had that she believed him as he let her uncurl his fingers.

"Yes," she agreed, blinking slowly, her eyes focusing and unfocusing as she put his hands on her shoulders. "'This is a dream…it could never happen in real life'… you always say that."

"I do?" he asked her, planting a knee on the bed to get a little leverage.

She made a soft, sleepy sound of agreement.

"What else do I say?" he asked as he loomed over her.

She smiled at him, a shy, languid little crooking of the corners of her lips. "You…you tell me…that you want me…"

He shook his head as he let his thumbs stroke the skin of her throat before they started to glide lower down her body. "Baby girl, you have no fuckin' clue how much I want you."

"Yes, like that…you always say it…like…_that_," she murmured, closing her eyes.

"You're sure? You're sure that you want this…?" he asked her, gritting his teeth as he felt her nipples pressing against his palms.

She arched her back into his touch. "Yes…"

"You're sure that you want…me?" he demanded, his tone urgent.

"Yes, oh, yes…" She opened her mouth as she moaned silently, then she opened her eyes and stared straight into his soul. "_Make me_…make me say it…"

What were they, the words she thought he wanted from her?

And, as if like magic, they came to him.

He slid one hand up to grip both of her wrists.

"Tell me, baby girl," he ordered, his voice turning rough and low as he took charge, "Tell me that you want me to touch you."

"I want you to touch me…" she breathed, her eyes drifting shut again as he bent his head to kiss her collarbone.

God, she smelled like flowers and sunshine and heaven.

The words came again.

"Show me," he demanded. "Show me where you want me."

Her smile was bewitching as she took his right hand in her left, slid it slowly down her body, rotated his wrist when it passed her waist, slipped it gently between her legs.

"Here," she whispered as she pressed herself against him. "This is where I want you…this is where I need you."

"Where you 'need' me?" he asked her, keeping his hand right where she'd left it. "And just what is it that you 'need,' hmmm? This?"

He stroked his middle finger up, and then down, and she moaned into the darkness.

"That what you need, baby girl?" he muttered against her neck. He ran his finger back up again, and swirled it gently. "Or maybe it's this?"

She started to cry out, but he silenced her with his mouth.

_Yes, fuckin' hell, yes! _ Kissing her was everything he knew it'd be. Their tongues slid together in a hot, wet tangle, and he gloried in swallowing every one of those hot little sounds she made in the back of her throat as he petted her.

God, he was so fucking hard, and, she was so damn wet, and Jesus fuckin' Christ, he wanted to be inside of her so much he thought he'd go in-fuckin'-sane.

Did she read his mind? He did wonder as she wrapped her left leg around his torso and shimmied her hips even closer into his hand.

"Please, please," she whimpered against his lips, her wrists straining against his hold.

"Like this?" He took his hands from her wrists and slid his mouth down her throat as he took one of her nipples into his mouth and slid his finger deep inside of her.

Her arms clamped around his back and her nails gripped his skin as her legs clamped around his hand and her inner muscles gripped his finger. "Yes, oh, yes!"

John barely had time to register what was happening before she started making those sounds. He knew those sounds, knew them intimately. Knew that she made them on a regular basis. Knew that she made them only when she was pleasuring herself, never with Woodcomb.

God, he loved listening to her, knowing that she was not afraid to touch herself, not afraid to let him touch her, to let him be the one to make her feel this way, to be the one making her make those sounds.

And yes, God, yes, he wanted to have her every way he possibly could, but that could wait. Right now, all he wanted to do was watch her, listen to her, feel her, inside and out, as he made her come.

He wrapped his other arm around her, put his lips to her ear and started whispering to her. "Like that, baby girl? You like that? Yeah, I know you do. I can see you shiver, I can hear you moan, I can feel you, every bit of you, and you feel so fuckin' good, honey, all hot and wet and ready for me. You want more, baby? You ready for more?"

She nodded, then gasped into his shoulder as he added a second finger.

"Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me, aren't you? You know what I want you to do?" he growled at her as she worked her hips against his hand and keened into his neck. "Do you? I want you to come for me, baby girl."

She was trembling and whimpering; he knew she was close.

"That's it, baby girl, come for me, _come for me_," he snarled before he hauled her up to his chest and ground his hand against her.

"Yes, oh, yes – _John_!"

He felt it happen, felt her body spasm as the pleasure roared through her veins, making her shudder and shake as she sobbed his name – _his _name.

* * *

It took her awhile to calm down and John took that time to close his eyes, bury his face into his neck, and run his free hand up and down her back as her body gradually melted into his.

Damn, she was just like a man after these kinds of orgasms – two minutes, tops, and she was out like a light.

He glanced up at the clock. _Three minutes after three – God, that was fast!_

She was limp and boneless against him in no time and he was careful not to injure her as he lowered her back onto the pillows and tucked the covers up around her. With any luck, she'd wake up in the morning and think that this was what she thought it was to begin with: a dream.

In the meantime, he had a job to do.

John went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and then went back into the bedroom and quickly located the malfunctioning transmitter.

He examined it carefully. It was whole, sound, and had plenty of battery power – everything appeared to be in working order. The only thing wrong with it was that the button that initiated the broadcast had been switched into the "off" position.

He looked at the transmitter, then at the woman sleeping peacefully not ten feet away, and felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise.  
_  
__Don't make too much out of this, soldier_, he told himself as he switched the transmitter on. _It's probably nothing._

Lights hit the windows and John hit the floor.

_Woodcomb's home. Fuck._

John used his forearms to quickly crawl out the door, making sure to shut it behind him before he slipped into Chuck's room, then out into the night. He engaged the alarm system, checked to make sure it was operating, and made his way back to his own apartment just in time to see Woodcomb walk through the door.  
_  
__Damn, that was close – too close! _he scolded himself as the adrenaline rush caused the skin on the backs of his arms to sting and smart. He sank down into his easy chair and checked the feed to Ellie and Woodcomb's bedroom. _ It was working again, thank you, Jesus… _

* * *

John awoke with a start and his eyes darted to the monitor. Woodcomb was already in bed and John was getting ready to do the same when something caught his eye.

Ellie was still lying in the same position, but her eyes were wide open and she was staring right into the camera.

_She can't…she doesn't…_

John blinked slowly. When he opened his eyes again, hers were closed.

He looked down at his feet – he'd been wearing boots, but now they were bare.

When did he have time to change out of them…?

He blinked again, shook his head.

_That was weird._

He made his way up the stairs, went into his bathroom, pulled off his shirt and was about to toss it into the clothes hamper when he noticed the marks on his back.

Or, rather, the lack of marks on his back…

He expected there to be eight perfect little half moons where she'd sunk her nails into him, but there wasn't even a scratch.

He ran back down the stairs and crossed to the place where he stored the spare batteries and transmitters.

The count was the same before he'd left earlier in the evening for the party.

He checked his gun locker.

There was his Glock, in the same position he'd left it after he'd cleaned it yesterday.

He checked the monitors.

Sure enough, there was an eighteen and a half minute gap in the feed.

_What the…?_

And then he felt something touch his shoulder.

John turned around, but there was no one there...

And then he heard it, so faint that it sounded like it was coming from across the city, across the state, across the continent, even: laughter.

And under the laughter, John thought he heard a deep bass voice murmuring:

_Fuck you, too, my son…fuck you, too…_

**The End.**


End file.
